


The Heir to all the Houses

by DesertWaterfall



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dark, M/M, Mild Blood, One Shot, ish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 07:34:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23467699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DesertWaterfall/pseuds/DesertWaterfall
Summary: Hogwarts was his home and he will do anything to stay there. And if Founder's Heirs have some privileges, well... he needed to find a way to have these privileges too.And if he accidentally caught the attention of a certain Dark Lord then well, that might be even useful._______Originally it was just a very short attempt at the trope subversion, but it basically became an exploration of my slight fascination with blood. Nothing too explicit, though.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Voldemort
Comments: 18
Kudos: 161





	1. Chapter 1

Hogwarts was his home.

He tried to live on his own, he really did, but it never was enough, never felt quite right, he could never _belong_ and it hurt, hurt so unbelievingly much.

He needed his home back.

But Dipped turned him away. Said he was too young. Too inexperienced. 

On his way out, he noticed Hepzibah Smith. She had no right to be there, she was no student and no professor and yet, she walked there as if she owned the place. He almost killed her right then and there just for that.

Apparently, old Hogwarts’ wards still recognised the blood of the Founders.

He spent the night wide awake, unable to fall asleep, thinking. He was no student and no professor — at least not for many more years to come — and no Founder’s heir. It all seemed pretty hopeless for him, but…

But, but, but.

Was it really that hard to fool the wards? 

* * *

It was not.

In fact, it was pathetically easy.

He craved the runes into his body with the same knife he killed her and stepped into the bath filled with what once was a very foolish and way too trusting woman by the name of Hepzipath. He let her blood flow through the runes down the veins right up the heart and he reigned in the feeling of his body changing and magic twisting.

After all, it matters not what someone is born, but what they grow to be. And if he wasn’t born an Heir, well… The magic is might and it can do anything. 

He was an Heir now. 

* * *

Not all of the Hogwarts was opened to Hufflepuff’s Heir. It was driving him mad.

He found the descendants of Ravenclaw. Unlike Hepzipath, they were actually nice people and it hurt him to kill them, but he did what had to be done and he drained their blood and mixed it with his own and Lovegoods died.

Griffindor’s were harder to find and harder to kill. They fought tooth and nail but in the end, they were too kind to deliver a final blow and the minute of hesitance was all he needed. He made sure then to make their death painful and it made Longbottom’s blood all the sweatier.

He burned Little Hangleton down to ashes when he found Gaunts dead, the Slytherin line cut and the dungeons of Hogwarts forever away from his reach. 

* * *

And then came the Dark Lord with a ridiculous name and an impossible gift.

A gift that passed only down the Slytherin line.

Now, it can’t be said that he didn’t learn from his mistakes. He defeated Longbottoms by pure lack only and he needed something better, more reliable now when dealing with the Slytherin’s heir. And so he waited and he thought.

And then he came to the Dark Lord and kneeled before him and offered him his talent in blood magic.

The Dark Lords were possessive and proud creatures. They wanted to have all the best for themselves only. And this one was no different and took his offer without a second thought.

Hook, line, and sinker.

It was easy from there to come closer to him, to gain his trust. Maybe even too easy, he realised, when he was pushed against the wall one day and kissed roughly and violently. But he didn’t complain.

This time was the hardest. 

But he needed Hogwarts and he did what had to be done.

He made sure to do it gently, though, sliding the knife down his chest with a kiss and a numbing charm. 

* * *

He was at home and the home was finally his. 

* * *

Ten years later he was pushed against the wall again by an unfamiliar man with familiar eyes.

“You didn’t think you will get rid of me that easily, did you, Harry?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Voldemort was promised an equal that will want to kill him one day. He's willing to risk it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who kudosed and commented on the original oneshot. You're the only reason this small continuation exists.

He had first felt it when a drunk prophet told him that one day he will meet his equal. The wave of darkness and warmth and salt that enveloped him for barely a moment was the only reason he didn’t murder the prophet on sight when she said this equal will want to kill him.

He would like to see them try if their magic felt like this.

* * *

He almost forgot about it by the time he came to visit Hepzipath to take back what was rightfully his.

He remembered the instant he felt a familiar sense of sultry heat and sticky salt threading through the air of the house.

The residual magic led him to the rooms he never visited before, until he found a dead elf and a bloodied bath. The runes were still visible but impossible to interpret without the others that surely were engraved on the body before it was rendered to nothing but blood spread around the room.

He didn’t know what his supposed equal had done but he knew he was already half in love with them.

He stayed until the last remnant of their magic evaporated into the darkness.

* * *

He could never forget the feeling of blood mixed with fever since then, but he forgot what the prophet said his equal will want to do.

He stood on the ashes of Little Hangleton, the traces of blood still distinguishable but overwhelmed by the heat of the Fiendfire that was raging here mere minutes ago.

The piece of his soul was somewhere among the ashes.

Why had they done this? Did they know?

Did he have to kill them first?

But he looked again at the ruins of the town, at the aftermath of a single spell, at the heady magic entwining with his very being and already dissipating into thin air.

He didn’t want it gone. 

The magic. The power. The boldness.

He wanted to have them for himself.

After all, the prophet said they would want to kill him, but not that they will actually do it. A piece of a soul was just that — a piece. He had more to spare.

And he could try to change their mind.

* * *

He looked at the boy who was kneeling before him, head bound but back proud, and the only thing he could think was that _he found them, he finally found them_.

Even all these years ago his magic was already soaked in blood but now, now the breath of blood and death filled the air the moment he stepped in and he saw even those with lesser sensitivity to magic shiver when tendrils of darkness and bloodied fire entwined around them.

He wanted to take him right then and there.

But he knew he needed to thread carefully. He must not forget the warning of the prophet and how this boy already destroyed a part of his soul. And so he waited and he thought.

He would entice the boy slowly, he decided, draw him close, show him how similar they were. He will never give a reason to turn against him and will give all the reasons to stay.

He threw these plans out of the window when he saw him wield blood magic for the first time, crimson droplets like diamonds in his messy hair and a silver knife in his hand moving steadily and uncaring for who was beneath it.

The boy was _his_. His equal, his alone, his to have and his to please. 

He snapped and he pushed and he kissed and it felt so right like nothing else in the world was, like he was blessed by magic itself to have someone like this, to have this mind and this power for himself and nothing could stop them now.

He kissed and he almost didn’t notice a numbing charm and the knife down his chest.

* * *

It took him eight years to find a new body. A year more to restore his old power, to reconnect with a few faithful followers who weren’t caught and didn’t betray him. He lost a lot of time because of his death and he needed to start from scratch again.

He was furious but mostly, he was confused.

Why? Why had he done it?

He couldn’t understand.

It took him a year more to stop resisting it and find the boy. 

It took him one second to look into these deathly eyes and feel his anger evaporate completely.

“It’s good to see you back, my Lord.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've never planned on continuing this story and I don't think there ever will be the third chapter. I have no thoughts regarding what happened next. I guess it's just that, Voldemort forgave Harry and they took over the world together.
> 
> But who knows, maybe the inspiration will strike again.


End file.
